Jump
by TheLastofUs
Summary: Alfred is known as a hero throughout the city. But consumed with a dark past, Alfred is struggling to keep himself alive, and be reminded that living and breathing are not synonymous. On verge of falling, he's gripped by the hand of a man that never smiles, but apparently he can spot a fake one. Is Arthur the catalyst Alfred didn't know existed?
1. Smiles in the Coffee Shop

"_I'll be just fine_

_Pretending I'm not._

_I'm far from lonely and it's all that I've got."_

_-All That I've Got, The Used_

**_Jump_**

**_Chapter one_**

_ "He's only a boy! He's nothing to you!" the woman begged in a pained voice._

_ "Oh, he's everything. He's mine," was the response._

_ The woman was kicked again onto the hard concrete and the man snatched something from her body—a necklace—and ran back to his car. The moonlight was heavenly and the stars were blessings. The man was corrupt and the knife was sinful. The wind whistled by sorrowful and kissed her cheek. Caressing her cheek, the boy held onto his mother._

_ "Mom, what's wrong?" he asked innocently with a voice that stuck her heart more than the knife. _

_ "Alfred, everything's alright. Just know, don't go with this man. Please," she said softly in a voice cracking until it broke to shards._

_ "But he told me to. Why would he tell me to do something bad?" Alfred asked._

_ The mother shook her head. "He's a bad man. Don't go with him, please, Alfred, I- I love you. Run away."_

_ "Oh okay! Let's go!" he grinned and ran a few feet, glancing back at his mom expectantly._

_ The mother, still leaning dependently against the wall, shook her head softly and her reddened eyes fell. "I can't. Go, before he comes back." And as if to prove her word, heavy footsteps sounded. "Go!" she commanded._

_ "C-Come with me! You will, won't you?" the boy ran back, tugging on her sleeve._

_ The woman wept. "I-I'll come…" she lied, "Just go head of me. Go hide."_

_ "Count to ten—no twenty! Ready or not, you'll come seek me out!" Alfred turned, and ran again._

_ "You'd best be ready," she whispered and another tear fell from her cheek._

* * *

"Jump! I'll catch you!"

_Meow!_

Alfred spread his arms just in time to catch the falling cat. He smiled, petting its head for a moment before turning to the girl next to him.

"Thank you so much! Oh I thought I'd never get her down!" a girl babbled and hugged him tightly before releasing him and retrieving her cat.

"No problem!" Alfred smiled, bending down to be eye-level with the girl.

The girl grinned a last time and ran back to her house a few blocks away. Alfred gazed after her figure, with a somewhat content face, his eyes casting back downwards and he pushed his hands into his pockets. He sighed and turned around, walking back to his work.

He was greeted at the door the same as any other day. Alfred worked intern for a publishing company. Most days, he simply made copies and ran errands, but a job was a job. Throughout the neighborhood, Alfred was known as the man who saved cats. It was something he just had a knack for doing. It was easy enough, it made people smile, and he liked cats. It ranged all the way from saving them from trees like a moment earlier, to getting the poor creature out of a wet-concrete area.

His workplace was international, meaning most employees were from all over the world. They tended to collaborate and create books to be sold all over the globe. As long as Alfred was a help, that's all that mattered.

"Tea, Mr. Honda?" he asked with a smile to the Japanese man in a cubicle.

"That'd be nice," Kiku Honda smiled back warmly as he bowed his head and accepted the drink.

Alfred flashed another grin and turned to run into someone else.

"S-Sorry—Oh, Mr. Kirkland!"

The sandy-haired man looked up with a scowl. "Alfred," he said plainly.

"Here's your tea," Alfred smiled again, holding out a cup.

Arthur Kirkland nodded, taking the cup. "Thank you," he said curtly and pushed past him.

Alfred's gaze lingered on him longer than it should before he sighed and turned around again.

"Ah, Mr. Bonnefoy, would you like some tea?"

* * *

It was raining on the way home. Alfred was finally alone, and so he allowed himself the luxury of not having to smile. His door swung open and he stumbled into his apartment. He never did bring umbrellas with him, and so his clothes dripped onto the wood floors as the sound of squeaking shoes filled the empty apartment.

He didn't bother to lock the door, just making his way tiredly to the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes that clung to his skin and let them fall onto the tiles of the floor. He stepped into the shower, turning the water to a scorching hot temperature.

"One… Two… Three… Four…" he counted under his breath.

It was traditional.

He got out of the shower within the hour and dried himself off. The room felt cold, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. He didn't often eat dinner either. Alfred fell onto his bed, feeling fatigue hit him like the strike of thunder. He didn't know how much longer he could hold up, but it's best to just try. Smile, save, and make it through the day.

He fell into a dreamless sleep each night and woke to the same chilling sun. He no longer felt warmth in a handshake and he no longer felt happiness in an embrace. He spends his days saving others, when he's unstable himself. He can't stand seeing others suffer the way he does. People call him a hero.

What a joke.

* * *

_ The birds' songs died when the man returned. The woman hardly had the strength to look at him again. Her hand covered a wound in her side._

_ "Where is he? What did you do to my son?"_

_ "He's hardly your son!" the woman argued weakly._

_ "He's _our_ son. Where is he? Alfred? Alfred!" the man turned, shouting in all directions._

_ "Don't you dare speak his name! You don't love me, you don't love him!"_

_ The man neared dangerously close with hysteria glinting in his eyes. He knelt by her and held her shoulders like a vice._

_ "Don't you tell me who I love and don't love. I love you and I love Alfred. He's mine. You're mine."_

_ The woman spit on his face. "I am not a possession and neither is he. He isn't your son, but mine. He was born of rape not love."_

_ "I DIDN'T RAPE YOU!" the man screamed insanely. "I LOVE YOU AND YOU'RE MINE! THAT'S HOW IT HAPPENED!"_

_ "Y-You're hurting me," the woman choked out._

_ The man kept shaking her shoulders, not listening to a word she'd said. He became more violent and her head banged against the wall. Over and once more again. The color of scarlet had crept over his hands and he let go. He let go._

_ Time felt silent and the ground felt still._

_ "Celia?" he asked. _

_ The woman lay as still as stone and her hand fell to her side. Not a breath was heard and the birds' song continued. The stars cried down on him as the sun started to peek up from behind the horizon. The moon and stars fled as the sun frowned upon the scene._

_ "How regretful," the sun reprimanded. "How tragic."_

_ But the man did not hear the sun. He stood shakily and ran._

* * *

Alfred loved to draw, though he didn't look like it, though he didn't show it. The strokes calmed his nerves, no matter what it was he drew. Be it pencil or crayon or chalk or charcoal, he drew, he drew. And for times such as now, it's what he loved most.

He sat in the corner of a café, facing the wall and drawing in a small sketchbook. He had a cup of coffee, though he wasn't drinking it at the moment. He let his heart finally come out and onto the page.

He jumped when he heard a voice behind him.

"I didn't know you could draw," the voice said.

Alfred spun around quickly, eyes wide and he nearly fell out of his chair. His defenses grew back up and enveloped him.

"M-Mr. Kirkland! Nice to see you!" he said in a voice that brimmed with shock before a smile was stitched onto his face.

"No need to be so formal. Call me Arthur," said man waved his hand. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the seat across from him.

"Go ahead," Alfred nodded.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest and he counted softly under his breath to calm himself. _One… Two…_

"May I see it once more? It was very nice," Arthur requested, leaning forward.

"It was nothing," Alfred said quickly and shook his head, setting the sketchbook beside him.

Arthur gave a look of disappointment but nodded. "Well I suppose it wasn't my business," he admitted.

Alfred half expected Arthur to leave after that, but he didn't. Arthur took a sip of his tea, looking somewhat off to the side. Alfred would have given the world to read his mind.

"What are you drinking?" Alfred asked softly to pass the time.

"Earl Grey," Arthur responded, taking another sip.

"Tea's never been my thing," Alfred laughed, "Coffee is much better."

Arthur blinked up at him, noting his static-like laughter. "Everyone has their preferences," he said indifferently.

And the air fell around their ankles. Arthur was difficult to talk to, Alfred thought, and yet he still sat by him. Why did he even sit by him? There were many other seats.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked somewhat cautiously.

Arthur glanced up from behind his cup. "Nothing that I know of."

_Of course. _Alfred looked away awkwardly. He looked over at Arthur whom seemed to be minding his own business now, taking out some manuscripts to proofread. Alfred still didn't know why he was doing this.

"I've got to get going," Alfred said cheerily and collected his things. "Nice to run into you here!"

With that he stood and waved. When he was nearly to the exit, he heard Arthur speak again.

"And Alfred!" he called after him.

Alfred turned, curiously. "Yeah?"

"Don't forget to smile," he said casually, standing as well and drinking another sip of his tea.

Alfred laughed. "But I am!"

Arthur shook his head, placing hand on his shoulder. "No you're not."  
He exited the café first with the jingling of a bell hanging over the door.

* * *

**Thank you for reading OwO I'll be continuing this for a while I think/hope XD I promise later chapters will be longer, beginnings are difficult ;-; I hope you liked it! Feel free to review: I love feedback, good or bad. It makes me better.**


	2. Lights

**_A/N: Sorry I took so long to update... I normally aim for at least once a week around over the weekend... Don't forget to review c:_**

* * *

"_Waiting for your call, I'm sick_

_Call I'm angry,_

_Call I'm desperate for your voice_

_Listening to the song we used to sing."_

_-Your Call, Secondhand Serenade_

**Jump**

**Chapter two**

He stood by the post office box.

The air shifted around him as people pushed past him in lights of crystal and diamonds. The sky fell onto his shoulders and he couldn't move; not an inch. Arthur rubbed the envelope in his hands, and with blazing eyes he glanced to his left—to his right. He turned around.

_ I couldn't do it again._

* * *

Alfred stood in front of the mirror.

He stretched his lips into a smile.

Farther. _Farther_.

What was different today than yesterday?

He laughed.

It sounded the same to him.

He gripped the sink, head down. His hair was messed up like a damp dog, and his eyes were worn out and drenched with venomous fatigue. He wept softly and silently. He was slipping upon thin ice and drowning; he was falling underneath nothing and he couldn't find his way back up.

How he could possibly feel the pain of a million daggers in his heart, and feel so empty at the same time he will never know. How his soul would sob uncontrollably and his shoulders would shake—he would cry and the tears would never be enough. How could he get rid of such immense emotional pain that it makes his chest cave in and he collapses with no control? How could he be like this?

But no—he mustn't think—_Shut up, mind!_ He tore his shirt off and shed his clothes. He stepped into the shower. He turned on the water. He stood alone.

He counted.

_One… Two… Three._

* * *

Alfred grinned radiantly.

"I have those photocopies you asked for," he said as he approached Mr. Kirkland's desk with an indistinguishable caution.

"Thank you," he responded plainly with his features weighted and sunken. "Oh, and wait here a moment," he added as Alfred turned to leave.

He walked farther into the office slowly, with a sort of wariness in his eyes.

"Take a seat there— I'll be there in a minute. I have to print this out."

And with that, Arthur had pressed a last button on his keyboard and walked to the copying room. Alfred was left alone in the office, sitting in one of two chairs with a quaint table between them. There was no clean whistle through the air to calm his nerves, and he tapped his fingers.

Arthur was taking his time with printing the—_who cares what it is?_—out. Alfred's mind had broken chains and started to run a hundred kilometers— up two trees and jump from cliffs. His teeth started to chatter and he wished to run away and hide himself so he could scream. _What was going on? Why did Arthur ask to see him? Why did he see him yesterday as well? How could he see through his smile? What—_

"Read this," Alfred hadn't noticed Arthur had returned.

Alfred's panicked eyes shot up and calmed in the slighted when he was returned with tranquil green forests. He looked back down, his heart rate slowing back to normal. In front of him was a piece of paper.

"What's this?" he asked, looking up curiously.

"A short story. Read it," he requested—_more like commanded_—again.

Alfred nodded, picking up the paper to bring it closer to his eyes. About a paragraph through, he looked up again.

"Am I supposed to be doing anything? Proofread?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head. "Simply read it. Unless you see something amiss?"

Alfred shook his head quickly, "Nothing," he said, and with a sigh, he continued.

It was about a hero.

A man who sacrificed everything in his life—even his own happiness—for the happiness and well-doing of others. The man wore a mask, and the world knew him only by that mask. Without the mask, he felt unneeded. During one part, the hero took off his mask one day and was mugged, left in critical condition in the hospital. He had no family to visit him and the world started to get worse in crime without their hero.

"Finished?" Arthur asked patiently.

Alfred nodded. "It just… Ends like this?"

Arthur laughed. "Of course not. That's the start of the novella. "

Alfred stood. "I see. Good luck on the rest. You're a wonderful writer. Is there anything else you need?"

"Oh you're not done. Sit back down," Arthur said before Alfred could leave.

Alfred sat down again warily. He smiled and nodded, waiting for further instruction. He didn't understand what Arthur was doing. He'd been working in this building for nearly three years; why did he start doing this just now? He'd always known him as the grumpy worker that hardly gave him the time of day. With such a drastic character change he didn't know what to think.

Arthur put the same story back in front of him.

"Describe the main character," he requested, sitting back in his chair.

Alfred sighed, looking back at the story for but a second and back up. "Well, he's the hero. Everyone loves him. What else is there?"  
Arthur sat forward with his elbows on his knees. "Oh there's a lot more than that. A hero is a status. What's beneath the hero? Describe him for me. What does he do when he gets home, what's beneath the mask, how does he like his sandwiches made?"

Alfred nearly laughed at the last part, though seeing Arthur's neutral expression, he decided to keep it to himself.

"He… Always wears a mask."

"Yes, that much was clear in the story," Arthur nodded with feigned patience.

"No I mean, if he always wears a mask, he's afraid of people seeing who he is."

Arthur smiled and sat back again, "here we go," he said softly and gestured for him to continue.

"He sacrifices his own happiness for others because he doesn't think he's worth the happiness. Maybe he did something long ago he regrets."

"Doing something so unforgivable he doesn't deserve happiness, that would mean he doesn't deserve to be loved either, wouldn't it?" Arthur said.

Alfred looked up at him and for a moment, feeling something pinch his heart.

"If he believes that, he doesn't deserve it. If you can't love yourself, you can't love others," Arthur continued, "This hero is as good as dead with a dead soul."

Alfred's posture stiffened and he looked back down at the story with a fire falling from his eyes—and the lights seemed darker, seemed dimmer. They choked him.

"If he hates himself he doesn't feel the need to feed himself," Alfred spoke as if he had a noose around his neck. "He's most likely tried starving himself. He probably shows everyone how happy he is. It probably makes him sick."

"The character here is obviously pathetic. He's weak," Arthur pointed out. "If he can't save himself, what's he doing trying to save others?"

Alfred clenched his fists, and slowly his smile fell unbeknownst to him.

Arthur smiled.

"Does he think so lowly of them and that they can't see through his mask?"

"Of course not!" Alfred shouted before remembering his place. "_The character_ probably just wants to save people since he knows his own life is… useless…"

"And again," Arthur interrupted, "If he does something so stupid, he does deserve to die. If he attempts suicide, kill him. Make it easier."

"If people are telling him to kill himself it isn't his fault if he tries!" Alfred shouted, his knuckles white and he stared a hole in the table.

Arthur tilted his head with the ghost of a smile on his face. "I never said people told him to kill himself."

Alfred looked up, suddenly remembering they were talking about the exposition to a novella.

"H-Hypothetically," he corrected himself. "Maybe that's the reason he tried."

Arthur stood, picking up the story. "Thank you for your time, Alfred," he said and walked back to his desk.

Alfred stood, somewhat stumbling as he balanced. His head was running in all directions as he tried to collect the information that was just thrown at him.

"Mr. Kirkland, what was the point of this?" he asked in a frustrated tone.

Arthur looked behind him to see Alfred.  
"An experiment," he said simply. Alfred was still frozen in place when he spoke again. "I don't know who's telling you these things, but it's never the answer. If ten people told you to end it, and one person told you not to who would you listen to?"

Alfred felt his breath running short. Shorter, shorter, and he was torn between running and screaming. Arthur spoke.

"Don't."

* * *

If the world was glass it would have broken by now—cracked at the least. And even in the dense, sturdy material it was made of, it was growing weary—it was crumbling. Alfred felt his feet heavier than they'd been in years as he ran. He didn't care where he was going. He didn't look as he crossed the street.

He was well out of the city and he collapsed by a bridge. His mind was racing. This man was driving him crazy.

The riverbed was damp and cold and he found himself comforted by it. Only but the chilly air rushed past his ears and only but the muddy bay seeped between his toes. His chest rose and fell radically and he closed his eyes.

One of these days, he wished he could live without any worries.

He jumped to the clouds when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur sounded as out of breath as he was as he spoke; "Why did you run like that?" he paused to look around. "Why here?"

Alfred looked up with scared eyes, inching away from him. He didn't want to be touched. He didn't want to be spoken to. He didn't want… Whatever Arthur was doing to him.

"Why are you here? Go away," Alfred said begrudgingly.

"No."

A pause.

"I want to help you," it was Arthur who spoke again.

"I don't need helping," Alfred said with stony eyes to the river.

The chilly wind blew hair to Alfred's eyes and he had trouble seeing. It was nearing dusk. The clouds shrouded them from light and from darkness. They were nowhere, yet they were everywhere. Cold, damp mud was stuck between Alfred's fingers; he felt Arthur sit down behind him.

"I think you do," Arthur said carefully. "How long have people believed your smiles?"

Alfred flinched. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"A smile is one that reaches the eyes."

"Says you. You never smile," Alfred retorted.

"I never lie," Arthur countered.

Alfred quieted. Stars were hung like Christmas tree ordainments as the sky darkened.

"And I do smile," Arthur admitted quietly, green irises lifting to the moon. "Not as often, but isn't it the fact that I don't smile much make the times I do that much more special?"

Once again, Alfred had no words.

Silence was stealthily creeping under the sheets of their barriers and a wall fell with cracked bricks. Alfred lifted his knees, hugging them to his body, not minding the mud that got on his arms. He turned slightly towards Arthur.

"How do you know though?" Alfred's question was soft as a child's lullaby.

Arthur turned to look at him. "I told you before that a smile is one that reaches the eyes. As I writer, I know much about body language. Your body language never corresponds with your smile, therefor, it's fake."

Alfred was quiet; a harmony to the winds. Arthur moved in front of him this time, and for once he saw the loneliness lurking in Alfred's dull, blue eyes. He lifted a finger and it grazed the skin beside his eye.

"There would be crinkles… here," he said slowly and the finger moved, "and a crease here." Arthur looked up at Alfred, their hearts beating as one and with each touch nerves were settled. "Your eyes would light up," he continued. His voice barely above a whisper as he finished; "You would smile."

* * *

They had started returning by midnight. Both a shivering, muddied mess.

They were both on Alfred's doorstep and Arthur shoved Alfred's arm with feigned irritation. "It's your fault I'm all dirty and cold and wet now. Let me in to clean up."

"Hey, never said you had to follow me," Alfred shook his head, his lips lifting in the smallest amount before dropping again. He took a key and jiggled it in the doorknob before opening the door.

"I'm coming in nonetheless," Arthur huffed and stepped in after him.

"And here I was under the impression you had such great manners," Alfred teased.

Arthur sent a forced glare his way before walking off in search of the bathroom, not wanting to ask.

"The third door down that hall!" Alfred called after him before he got too far.

"I didn't need your help!" came the faint retort.

Alfred laughed to himself, sending a last amused glance down the empty hall. He heard the running of water and the slap of wet clothes on the tile floor. His eyes dropped lower as he recalled the night. He walked to the mirror above the sink in the kitchen.

He looked in the reflection.

"Crinkles… here?" Alfred raised a hand to his eyes, his voice not loud enough for even he himself to hear. "A crease…" his hand dropped.

_Lights_.


	3. Pained

_"Can nobody hear me?_

_I've got a lot that's on my mind._

_I cannot breathe."_

_-Hear Me, Imagine Dragons_

**Jump**

**Chapter 3**

"Back again? Finally going to mail the letter?" asked the woman at the post office.

Arthur leant against the wall near a corner. He sighed, rubbing the envelope in his hands. His fingers traced over the name written in aging ink. One of the corners was ripping already. He should mail it soon shouldn't he?

But no; he shook his head and stuffed the paper into his pocket.

* * *

Arthur quickly locked the door behind him as he entered the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and dropping them. He turned on the water, and yet, didn't get in.

He flashed a look at the locked door before opening the drawers of the sink and cabinets. He was looking for something. What—even he wasn't sure. Just something.

The first drawer opened was filled with various shampoo and spare bars of soap as well as sponges and washcloths. The drawer was hastily but quietly shut. The drawer under it contained toothbrushes and toothpaste. Nothing he wanted to see.

He searched longer, opening the last drawer, but once again, he was disappointed. He sighed, walking away from the cabinets; maybe he was wrong about this. Maybe Alfred wasn't what he thought he was. Then again, Alfred loved to fake things. Lie. Hide.

By Arthur's observations at least.

Arthur walked into the shower defeated, quickly washing his hair to make up for the lost time of searching. Soap ran down his back and he didn't bother to use conditioner. He stepped out, grabbing a towel and slinging it around his waist. He let his hair drip over his forehead as he stood still. He thought.

He turned just a bit to the side and saw a flash of light flicker by. He moved back, seeing it again. He moved slower, stopping as the light passed by—the reflection of light off metal.

He walked closer to the source—a tissue box by the sink—and peered inside.

Maybe he was right after all.

* * *

The bathroom door opened quietly and Arthur seemed to walk out solemnly. The air was distilled.

Alfred glanced up from the kitchen sink and Arthur could sense a change in his charisma. Something had shifted.

"You can borrow some of my clothes," it was Alfred's words that disrupted Arthur's thoughts.

Alfred had started towards his bedroom. Arthur had followed; he walked at a fairly quicker pace. Water dripped down his ankles. Alfred hadn't made it to the doorframe when Arthur pushed him against the wall.

"W-What are you doing? Arthur?" Alfred demanded as his arms were pinned to his sides.

"You're wearing long sleeves," Arthur stated. His tone dipped and curled. Part of him didn't want to be right.

"It gets cold at night!" Alfred defended. How many times had he used that line? Had he worn sweaters in summer? Arthur pulled one of the sleeves down and felt his heart stop.

There was nothing there.

"What's this about?" Alfred's voice rose.

Arthur moved to his other arm—once again it was clean.

Alfred continued to shout at him, demanding reasons—why was he doing this?—but Arthur wasn't listening. He spoke.

"I don't understand," Arthur whispered. "I've never been wrong before. I'm missing something."

"What are you trying to do? What's—"

"It's nothing!" Arthur interrupted and stepped back. "I was wrong! I don't understand you!"  
Nothing in this man's house added up.

_I'm missing something,_ he repeated to himself. Only in his mind, he could hear it. _What did I miss?_ He couldn't understand anything. Every time he was close, something showed up and threw him off. Now right when everything made sense—He was wrong.

"In your tissue box," he turned. "There were razors. In the trashcan, the rest of them. You only kept the blades. Why?"

Alfred's face paled—_there it is again, but nothing is clear_— "No reason," he answered.

"You and I both know that's a lie," Arthur leant against the opposing wall. "Tell me what I'm missing. What do you _do_ with them?"

Alfred's bottom lip trembled and the corners of his lips twitched—_once again, he's hiding something. What is it?_—"Oh that? I don't know, I suppose I just hold onto random items."

"Then why do you have something to hide?" Arthur's voice lowered; had it not been for the words "why do" it wouldn't have been a question.

"You already saw my arms, you know I don't cut myself," Alfred said quickly—_his eyes flickered to the left. He's hiding something_.

Finally. Arthur smiled.

"Ah, ah, I never said anything about that," he pointed an accusing finger. So he was right after all.

"I'm not sure what you're implying, but I do know you've overstayed your welcome," Alfred said. His voice only slightly trembled.

"You do know what I'm implying," Arthur said and his voice sped up. "Show them to me."

"S-Show w—"

"You know what!"

A silence fell over them and neither of them moved. Anger had rushed through Arthur's veins for a moment. Only afterwards he realized he had wished to be wrong about this, but he never was. He calmed down. Alfred's eyes were glued to the floor.

Arthur walked forwards.

"Are they here?" his hands pressed to his chest, gaining no reaction— _other than a speeding heart_. His hands ventured lower—_his body shuddered_— eliciting no response until he reached his hips. Alfred held his breath, though Arthur doubted he himself realized it. His fingers twitched.

"They're here aren't they?" his hands fell lower onto his thighs. "And here?"

Alfred swallowed. _That's a yes._

"Leave me alone," Alfred's voice cracked.

And like a frightened doe, Alfred trembled.

It was then Arthur realized just how fragile he was.

A sharp silence and stilled air.

An offending hand and a lost soul.

"Let me see them," and somehow the demand sounded so gentle.

Alfred shook his head. His bangs fell over his eyes.

Arthur began to remove his jeans; Alfred's eyes shot up.

"H-Hey, stop that!" Alfred shouted and his cheeks burned.

"We're both men, it's not as if it matters," Arthur said nonchalantly. He looked up at him—_Pupils dilated, nervous tremble of fingers, licking lips_—

_Oh. _

"You're gay."

"W-What?!"

"Well now that I think about it it should have been obvious."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Hmm that's the first time I missed that sign."

"W-What sign?! How is it obvious?!"

"You just _look_ gay."

"Hey! That's not true!"

Arthur laughed. "I know, that last time I was teasing."

Alfred's lower lip gave a pout and he glared at him. Arthur's lips curled into a smile.

_Hey… Eyes really do light up when someone smiles…_ Alfred thought endearingly.

Arthur continued to pull his jeans off, "Don't worry, I won't try anything," he spoke, adding in a lower tone, "Unless you want me to."

"W-What?!"

"Okay, I'm done teasing. I'm sorry," Arthur let up, chuckling to himself. He didn't understand how Alfred could be so cute about all of this.

"_Cute_." _Hmm_.

The playful mood quickly died as the fabric was taken away.

It was still.

"Oh my god…" Arthur whispered.

He had to admit, he had seen self-harm scars before… but there were so many. They were so wide, deep—some were _words_. Not the short words like "ugly" or "fat," though they were there, too. There was "disgusting," "failure," "obnoxious"… He could only imagine the pain he had been in to write such long words.

"Y-You've seen them… Now leave me alone," Alfred said weakly, and Arthur could tell by the tone of his voice he was close to tears.

"Why did you do this to yourself?" Arthur's voice was just over a whisper.

Expectantly, Arthur received no response.

The scars disappeared under the hem of his boxers and continued down to his knees. Some were just purple marks as if he'd colored on himself—more fresh ones cut deep into the flesh and looked like he was about to bleed if he moved. One was.

Arthur quickly looked around, spotting a tissue box on a table and grabbed it. He was almost scared to look inside, but all it was was tissues. He took one out.

With a smooth stroke, he wiped the cut.

"I-I don't understand," Alfred said, "You never spoke to me once in three years."

Alfred stopped and Arthur's head looked up.

The lone word floated in the silence, unsaid._ Why?_

"I've been watching you those three years," Arthur said, looking back down. "I'm not one to not speak and not experience. I had to make sure I was right about this before approaching you."

There was a lingering pause much like dripping caramel.

"How do you always know?" this question was asked once before.

"Like I said, I'm well educated in body language," Arthur explained again. "I use this mostly in writing, but that doesn't mean I can't apply it in real life," that was when he looked up again. "Do you have any idea how pained you looked each day?"

* * *

"_Mom?" oh how innocence is lost so early. The boy did not hear an answer. "Mom? You lose, you couldn't find me!"_

_ But this time the mother did not frown in feigned sadness, "I'll get you next time though!" will never be said in the same voice again._

_ The pitter patter of little feet running against the sidewalk sounded. The boy called out for his mother again with wide, blue eyes. People passed by him, not looking twice. The world was turning, and yet Alfred's world had stopped._

_ Time stood still and the air had stopped altogether. The trees wept by his side and the cold concrete muttered its apologies. The boy knelt._

_ "Mom?" his voice was much smaller now. "Mom, you never found me."_

_ Her eyes were open. Why wasn't she looking at him? The boy crawled over her body, leaning in front of her dull eyes. _

_ "Mom? Mom? Mom?" he repeated over and over. The sun had peeked up from behind the horizon now. The wind was chilled and raindrops fell onto them. And thus came the choked sob, "Mom?"_

_ And right next to him was another man, trying to take a ring from her finger._

_ "H-Hey, that's not yours! That's my mom's!" Alfred tried to shout at him, but the man took the ring and fled. Alfred watched him run. But it's okay, she was just sleeping. She'll wake in a few hours. They were out late. That's all. _

_Alfred sang._

"_Sleep, sleep, safe and sound._

_You'll wake up, and walk around._

_Sleep, sleep, wake back up_

_Stretch then grab your coffee cup._

_I know you're tired, but the moon's gone now._

_The sun is singing and prancing around._

_Will you really miss out today?_

_Wake up soon, it's another day."_

_ "Boy, are you alright?" came a soft voice._

_ "M-Mom?" Alfred asked, his eyes widening. But her lips didn't move._

_ "I'm sorry, I'm not your mother," the voice came from his left. "I-Is this… her?"_

_ Alfred nodded. "She's asleep."_

_ The woman next to him looked grim. "Would you like to come with me?"_

_ "Can mom come too?" Alfred's eyes glistened with unshed tears. He looked up eagerly._

_ The woman was quiet._

_ And still._

_ "What's your name? How old are you?" she said eventually._

_ Alfred looked back down. "Alfred. I'm seven years old," he divulged._

_ "Alright, Alfred, my name is Annalise," she smiled at him. "I'd like to take you home. I have a son your age, Matthew. He's quiet, but you'd like him." The woman brushed some hair from his face, smiling. "You even look a bit like him."_

_ Alfred was quiet for a moment. The cold crept under his clothes and he shivered._

_ "Come on, Alfred," she said, holding onto his shoulders. "I'll take you home."_

* * *

"Kitty, kitty!" Alfred coaxed, holding out his arms.

The cat stuck on a billboard hissed and arched its back.

Alfred climbed the ladder, holding his arm out at a closer proximity, "I'm not going to hurt you, little fella," he said softly.

"No, wait! Mister, come back down! I don't want you to get hurt!"

Alfred ignored the woman on the ground and climbed a step higher. The wind rushed past him and blew his hair in a different direction. _Come on, just a little more._

The cat gave a mewl and inched closer.

Alfred smiled, holding out a small tuna fish. He thought it was just a joke that cats loved fish, but apparently it was true. The creature came closer, eating the fish and climbing onto his arm and up to his shoulder.

"Ahh, there we go!" Alfred grinned and started to climb down with the cat clinging to his shirt.

"That was so dangerous!" the woman scolded, looking a strange mixture of worry and happiness. "But thank you."

"No prob!" Alfred laughed and turned around again.

"You're such a great person," the woman added quietly, causing Alfred to turn around.

_Really?_ He asked in his mind. The last thing he would call himself was "great." He allowed himself to smile, staring down at the ground. He kicked a small rock, glancing back at the woman and her cat. He loved to save cats. He wondered if he could ever save a person.

* * *

**Wahh again I updated late ;-; I hope you liked it-ish... Not much to say so see ya next chapter~ **


	4. Lonliness

**Jump**

**Chapter 4**

"_It's alright now, Alfred, you're safe,"_ a voice he hardly remembers.

A ghost of violet eyes.

And a flash of a smile.

A name.

Alfred's eyes shot open and he tossed under his blankets. He breathed raggedly. It was always the same dream. It was always the same voice. It was always the same man. It was misty; it was foggy. He couldn't tell—was this a dream or a memory?

He shivered as his bare feet hit the cold floor.

His eyes were hardly open, but he walked to the bathroom. The only thing that got rid of the gnawing empty pit in his stomach flashed before him. But it was all okay. It was, really. Nothing was wrong with him except his nightmares. Ever since he could remember, he'd had the same dream. And ever since he could remember, he'd felt void of a heart. There was some gaping hole in him that couldn't be filled.

He desperately reached for the tissue box—

It was empty.

How was it empty?

Alfred's heart sped and he clutched his skull in pain. These voices screaming wouldn't stop. Were they made of his voice? Of another voice? He couldn't think. He couldn't do anything. He swiped an arm across the sink and threw the tissues on the floor. It was Arthur wasn't it? He got rid of them? What does he know about him? What gives him the right—_to protect you?—_to do this to him?

He was a mess.

_Count! Count! Damn it all, have you forgotten?_

"One," his voice was a broken whisper. "Two."

The mirror shattered; his knuckles bled.

"Three."

* * *

Although there was minimum chatter in the café, all Alfred heard was his pencil scratching on the paper.

"Do you come here every morning?" Arthur didn't ask to take a seat by Alfred in the coffee shop. Alfred jolted to attention, but had no answer.

"I… I suppose? Sometimes?" he stammered, not quite knowing the answer himself. He did go there often didn't he? "Earl Grey?"

"You're learning," Arthur nodded. "Coffee?"

"With caramel and extra sugar," Alfred took a sip and peered up from the other side of his mug.

Arthur made a face. "How can you stand all that caffeine and sugar?"

Alfred laughed plainly and held the cup in his direction, the coffee sloshing and nearly slipping over the edge. "Want to try some?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed at the mug and he skeptically took it, smelling it first. His eyes flashed up at Alfred as if asking, "_Do I really want to try this?_ "

The cup lifted to his lips and he was ever so conscious of how sweet it tasted, but he couldn't say it was bad. The caramel lingered on his tongue even as he pulled away from the mug and put it back on the table in front of Alfred. He licked his lips.

"It actually wasn't as bad as I thought," he admitted, still pondering the taste.

Alfred smiled, laughing to himself and reached across the small table to take Arthur's cup, saying something along the lines of "my turn!" and sniffed it much like Arthur had his cup. He took a drink more confidently, but scrunched up his nose afterwards. The tea sloshed around in the cup as he set it down quickly.

"Yours _was_ as bad as I thought," he grimaced and grabbed his coffee back, taking a huge gulp.

Arthur scowled and spoke begrudgingly, "Yeah well I like my tea better. Coffee is too sweet."

"Nah you like mine better."

"Tea is healthier."

"Coffee is yummier."

"Tea is more widely consumed."

"Maybe in the Gentleman-Country, but not here."

"Gentleman-Country? What the bloody hell is that?"

"England, duh."

"I—"Arthur stopped, looking closer at him, his glowing face. "You seem happier," said he.

Arthur blinked slowly, but the glow had faded from the end of the petty argument.

"Damn it's already eleven!"

Arthur grabbed his bag and ran out of the door, leaving Alfred dumbfound, his eyes following his slowly shrinking figure. They still had another hour before work hours started didn't they? He shrugged, putting his sketchbook back in his bag and grabbing his coffee, finishing it up. Call him crazy, but he swore he saw a really ancient-looking letter in Arthur's hands just when he left.

He looked at his distorted reflection in a small spoon. Happier?

The bell above the door jingled a second time.

* * *

_"Matthew, this is Alfred," Annalise said softly as they reached home. _

_ Matthew looked back at him with a plain face, void of all emotion. His hair was fair and stretched, yearning to touch his shoulders but never could. His eyes looked so empty to Alfred, and to Alfred, he himself was empty, too. He didn't ask if they were going to go back for his mom again. He got the hint the last half hour that they were just going to leave her there. He was never going to see her again._

_ "Matthew, can you say 'hello'?" Annalise asked in the same quiet voice._

_ Matthew did not make a sound, but Alfred did for him. "Hello," Alfred greeted in a voice that scraped the tiles of the floor. _

_ A spark shone in Matthew's weak, violet eyes and he nodded in acknowledgement. _

_ "Matthew, will you say 'hello' to me at least? You're being quite rude, you know," Annalise reprimanded, glancing apologetically at Alfred._

_ "Hello, Miss Annalise," his voice was soft and smooth, not a bit rough at all. _

_ Annalise sighed and knelt down at eye-level with him. "I told you to call me 'mom' okay? Can you do that?" _

_ "Other people call you Annalise. I want to, too," Matthew's eyes seemed to go right through her._

_ Annalise stood again, sighing in defeat. "Well, this is Alfred. He's going to be your brother, okay? We just adopted him. That means you have to be kind to him. That means you have to say 'hello' to him when he gets home. Can you do that for me?"_

_ "Hello," Matthew's dazed eyes drifted to Alfred._

_ "Hi," Alfred nodded and looked down. At times like this he should smile, he should shake his hand like mom told him to. But where was mom now?_

_ "I'll show you to your bedroom, Alfred. Do you mind sharing with Matthew or would you rather me prepare an extra? Matthew already has a bunk bed."_

_ Alfred's hand was taken by Annalise and they walked across the house to another room. Matthew tailed closely behind him. The house was deadly silent and the floor creaked softly with each step. They soon entered a bare room except for carpet and a bunk bed and a book shelf._

_ "Matthew normally sleeps on the bottom, so you'll have the top. Is that okay with you two?" Annalise turned with a smile._

_ The two boys nodded and unison and looked at each other._

_ "I expect you two to get along just fine," Annalise knelt down, ruffling their hair. "It's already late so you can already go to bed."_

_ Matthew and Alfred were left in the room as she closed the door. Matthew walked slowly to the bed, climbing onto it and laying down, facing the wall. His body curled up into a ball and he covered himself with the blanket. Alfred sat by the foot of the bed._

_ "Hi," he said._

_ Matthew didn't reply._

_ "Are you going to talk to me?"_

_ Again, his only answer was the soft rain pattering on their window._

_ "I hope we can be friends," Alfred said softly. "Maybe you're just shy. You'll get used to me right?"_

_ Alfred waited for an answer but received none. He pondered if Matthew was asleep already, but he saw his foot move and his arm pull the blanket closer._

_ "I feel really alone…" he said softly and hugged his knees. "My mom's not here. Annalise left her on the street."_

_ He heard Matthew swallow, shifting a little in the bed._

_ "Now I have you, though," he said softly, "if you'll have me."_

_ He paused again and only the night answered him. Alfred's eyes dropped and so did his heart. He was stolen away and now he was more alone than ever. He opened his lips slowly to resume talking to nothing when—_

_ "Me, too," he heard Matthew's smooth voice, softer than usual. "I'm lonely, too."_

* * *

**_Sorry about how bad this is turning out... I meant to write more for this chapter but I couldn't think of much... If you have suggestions feel free to review them. This story isn't really turning out how I thought it would but I'm trying to keep it going. I hope you liked it a little_**


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